Call Me Al
by Starrlit13
Summary: Her father wanted her safe. His advisors wanted her weak. Her mother wanted her to rule. He wanted her to be free. She wanted to change the world.
1. Prologue

"You're so lucky."

She'd heard that her whole life. The vapid appreciation for a lifestyle they would never understand. Yet they craved confirmation of their envy. So she'd simply smile and nod, validating their suspicions that the life of a princess was one to covet. But behind her affirming smile, Jasmine only felt pity.

In the public light, the world of the royal family was extravagant. The common folk watched as parades of gold and gourmet were flaunted through the streets, an exercise of wealth and power. The wealthiest and most prominent merchants and lords would add to the frivolity of these events, needing no other excuse to exert their own status for public demonstration. At the calling of any neighboring noble, the city would cease its daily business to fawn over the newest celebrity. Everything was a well-rehearsed song and dance of political intrigue, economic expansion, and social prominence that distracted from the real troubles of the world.

Jasmine had long ago surmised that if it had not been for her mother, she would have been caught up in the fake fanfare of this superfluous existence. The traditionally lavish life of the royal family was something her father encouraged; and her mother scorned. Since birth, Jasmine was reared as two separate people. The doting, obedient daughter of the naïve sultan, who stood behind her father, was the silent public figure of beauty and submission to the people. She was advertised by the counsel of her father's closest confidants as an example of subservice to the power of the sultan.

But behind closed curtains, her mother refused to allow her daughter to be a pawn of their patriarchal society. Jasmine spent most of her nights, hidden in dark corners of the palace, reading scrolls by candlelight. Her mother insisted she be literate in Arabic, as well as fluent in Latin, Greek, and Coptic. Jasmine studied Sharia law, trade agreements, economic theory, and world history; anything her mother could smuggle from the palace achieves. Her mother's loyal guard taught her to fight, to use a sword. Her mother was giving her the tools to become a strong leader, even if it took years for Jasmine to truly understand why.

Her mother was her best friend: in truth, her only friend. Children she'd grown up with were merely socialites in training, whose parents only wished their offspring to bond with their powerful associates. Jasmine knew they were fake in their affection, which only strengthened the bond with her mother. So it was only natural that the sudden news of her mother's illness brought devastation into Jasmine's life.

In the darkness of her mother's bedchambers, away from prying ears, they savored their last moments together. Beseeching her daughter's understanding, she bestowed her final lesson to Jasmine. "The world is broken, my child. I have made you into a weapon that only you can wield. Do not let anyone else control you. Your knowledge is power; use it for good and you can fix this world." Through labored breaths, she spoke her final words. "You are my greatest treasure. And you will be my legacy." Manara Nasir passed on the eve of Jasmine's sixtieth birthday.

What was to be a glorious affair, had suddenly shifted with mournful purpose. She refused to look at her mother's body draped in white linen as the burning of frankincense seared Jasmine's nostrils. Imam Hanifa recited the Salat al-Janazah over the echoing wails of the court women, as was tradition. Jasmine refused to participate, instead allowing her anguish to simmer in her gut, her lips tightly pursed against the threatening tears.

Long after the men processed to the burial grounds and the women had bid her their blasé sympathy, Jasmine found herself alone in the darkening grand chamber. The silence was deafening and the air was stale with death. She barely acknowledged her father's rare act of affection as her drew her into his arms and led her to her room. Knowing she was betraying her mother's wishes, Jasmine allowed her grief to consume her. But her father's sympathy did not last forever.

On the fourth day, Jasmine awoke to a fanfare of trumpets, announcing the visit of Prince Valarian. She was jostled from bed by a flurry of handmaids: dressing her, primping her, preparing her to greet their guest of honor. The day flew by in a whirlwind of forced smiles, crossed physical boundaries, and silent rage. Valarian's visit extended several weeks, leaving Jasmine emotionally exhausted.

"Will you marry him?" Her father asked, having decided twenty-five days ample time to determine romantic compatibility. Jasmine spoke no words, responding with a simple shake of her head, before retreating to her chambers. Valarian was respectfully dismissed the following day. Jasmine could only assume her father was honoring her grief by allowing her to choose her husband. But she only saw a new prison.

As time passed, the suitors filtered in and out of the palace consistently. On the twenty-fifth day, her father would repeat his question and she would respond in turn, casting away yet another potential spouse. The years only strengthened the inevitability of her situation. Jasmine knew her father's patience would only last so long before he forced someone on her without consent. As the departure of Prince Maalik was still fresh inside the palace, Sultan Hamed's impatience could be heard echoing through the halls. Jasmine listened to his screams and threats with indifference. She'd been prepared to leave her cage for months; and her father had just given her the key.


	2. Over the Wall

Moonlight was creeping through the window by the time Jasmine moved from her place on the bed. Her father's voice was still ringing in her head, his threatening words eliciting little emotion. He'd spoken of responsibility, her obligation to her sultan, her nation. He cursed her petulance, claiming his wife's disappointment, which Jasmine knew would have been untrue.

By the time he'd retreated, to leave her to her thoughts, she'd confirmed the plan that had been lingering in the background for some time. She was tired: tired of her life locked in a cage. The urge to flee was fresh in her mind, her pulse quickening with the thought of leaping over the garden wall and never turning back. Jasmine's stomach fluttered with nerves as she began to plot her escape.

* * *

Jasmine sighed. Never had she felt so discouraged in her life as in that moment: sitting on her chaise, being scolded by her head of security. She'd informed him of her plan; of course, she had told him. Rajah was her only friend and confidant since her mother passed. But she had assumed he'd be understanding: at the very least, reasonable. After three days of getting nowhere, she was frustrated from the lecture.

"Rajah, stop." Jasmine raised her head from its resting place in her hands to meet the burly man's eyes. "You continue to berate me with reasons I cannot leave, but yet you give me no reason to stay. You tell me my mother had a destiny for me, but I cannot see it."

"Child, you must trust your mother. She understood the importance of your future…"

"She's not here!" Jasmine interrupted, her eyes eager and pleading. "She's gone and I cannot wait around to see what will happen. I need to leave and see the world beyond these walls. You know this is true."

"You must understand; the world is a dangerous place. I am only obeying your mother's request to keep you safe," he appealed.

"By hiding me away? You are no better than my father. Besides, I am not asking for permission," she responded, her voice laced with unexpected venom. Rajah's glare penetrated her heart and she instantly felt guilt for her imprudent words. "I will disguise myself, dress in rags if I must," she offered, her voice softening. "But I am doing this with or without your assistance." She lifted her chin, determined not to lose this fight.

"You will not let this rest," Rajah sighed deeply. "Very well. I will only concede to this idea if we create the appropriate safeguards. At least for now or you know it will be my head the sultan takes when you turn up missing."

She nodded her understanding. Jasmine knew that was a grave truth. Her father might harbor negative feelings towards having the burden of a daughter, but the prospect of having a profitable heir by marriage would be enough to enrage him into drastic measures.

Rajah continued, sitting down next to her. "He will not send for you for another week, if his pattern continues. That will give you time. I will write a letter to my wife; she will understand and house you for the time." Jasmine's heart swelled at his offer. She listened closely as he spoke softly of rules she'd need to follow, as if this was a game she was to play. But the requests were acceptable and she agreed to Rajah's urging not to leave the city limits.

He paused, brow furrowing, as he gathered his next words. "Jasmine, your mother and I have invested our lives into making sure that your future matters to this world. You are an intelligent women, but the streets of Agrabah are treacherous. There are things that even your mother did not know." He did not offer an explanation of his cryptic words, so Jasmine simply nodded in understanding. She watched his large figure disappear from her room, a lightness filling her that even Rajah's haunted warning could not quell.

* * *

Jasmine did not allow her servants in that evening. Rather, she sat, focused on her complexion in her large, ornate mirror. For years, her perfect raven hair and flawless tan skin had been but a passing thought; now it only enraged her. The longer she stared back at her own brown eyes, the angrier she became. At her father, her mother, Rajah, the council, the world she was brought into; she couldn't really say.

She began pulling off her jewelry, piece by piece, tossing them into the shadows of the room, shortly followed by her clothing. She tore at the intricate ties in her hair, pulling the strands wild. Completely naked, she finally paused, allowing her rage to simmer. Her appearance was untamed and disorienting. But as she pulled on the freshly laundered undergarments and conservative brown linens Rajah had acquired from an unsuspecting handmaid, a small smile crept across her face. Jasmine pulled the draped hood of the cloak over her messy locks successfully concealing her identity. The simple alterations produced miraculous results.

A passing thought of betrayal brought a tear to her eye. Would her mother scorn her selfish behavior or find envy in realizing she could never have left her own prison. Jasmine didn't know what future her mother had planned for her, but in that moment, she couldn't bring herself to care. In this instance, and all the ones in Jasmine's immediate future, the decisions she made would be for herself. Happiness was her current priority.

When Rajah appeared several hours later, his shock wasn't subtle enough to hide. She watched surprise flitter across his features as she sat, unmoved, before the mirror. Jasmine's plain, disheveled costume seemed to earn her guard's approval and that comforted her racing heartbeat. He moved to speak, but no words escaped; all thoughts had been spent. He removed a small slip of paper from his pocket and placed it on her nightstand, next to a small pouch of coins. Jasmine followed his motions in the warped glass as he bowed low and left her bedroom. The next move was hers.

* * *

The courtyard was clear, as Rajah had told her it would be. Jasmine took a moment to take in the familiar sights. The trees, the fountain, the gardens, the towering walls: all memories of her past. Captivity, she told herself, as she climbed the strategically placed ladder along the eastern wall. She slipped down the rope on the other side, feet planting firmly on the dirt. Rajah would retrieve the evidence before long and make excuses for her lack of presence. Jasmine allowed herself a brief moment to gaze back at the wall, high and foreboding: a threat to those seeking a confrontation with the throne. Soon her feet began carrying her forward, away from her past and towards something new and magical: a whole new world.


End file.
